Mel Odom - Rising Tide

Narros shook his head. His little girl reached out unexpectedly, floating free of her father's arms. Her soft, webbed hand reached out and caught Pacys by the chin. Going with the child's gentle but insistent push, Pacys twisted his head and bared his neck.

"Alyyx has noticed you don't have gills," Narros said. Gently, he captured his daughter and pulled her back into his arms.

Reaching into his pocket, the bard took out the small leather bag that contained the colorful marbles he used to exercise his fingers and keep them limber for the musical instruments he played. The merchild took them with obvious delight and began inspecting them.

"We were given no name for him," Narros said, "and we were bade never to speak of him except as the Taker or the Trickster. He was to be given no real identity. We've always believed that once his name was known, his power would grow again and he would be called forth from his deep slumber."

"What about the circlet?" Pacys asked. "What did it do?"

"I don't know, but he came for it fourteen years ago and wiped out over half our village taking it." A somber look filled Narros's face. "Our dead were scattered around us, torn limb from limb as if in the jaws of some great sea creature."

"Did you see him?"

"Only as a shadow," the merman shaman answered, pain filling his gray eyes, "the greatest, largest shadow anyone had ever seen, and like nothing we'd ever seen before."

The hurt distraction in the merman's eyes testified vividly to how well he remembered the night.

"Were the sahuagin with him?' Pacys asked after a moment.

"No. The Taker came alone, in the dead of night when even the sea is dark. I lost two of my sons in that battle."

"I'm sorry," Pacys said.

Narros gave his daughter a brief hug.

"Eadro willing," the small merboy stated in a serious, quiet voice, "one day I'll be strong enough to avenge my brothers."

Pacys glanced at the boy, suddenly realizing he wasn't old enough to have known his deceased brothers. The family's loss and hurt had already spanned a generation in the merman's own family.

"The prophecy," Narros went on, "told us that we might fail in protecting the circlet from the Taker, but it never mentioned at what cost. After it was over, we cared for our dead, then we swam for Waterdeep."

"Why Waterdeep?" Pacys asked.

"Because the prophecy told us the Taker would arise again, soon after his first appearance, and the place he would first strike terror into the hearts of the surface dwellers would be in their greatest city."

"Waterdeep," Pacys breathed. He was aware of the tune changing on the yarting.

"There could be no other," the shaman agreed. "Great detail was given in the prophecy of the city that would be attacked. Its towers and great heights, the fact that it was wrapped in magic and was home to champions."

"So you came here," Pacys said, "seeking asylum from Lord Piergeiron and the others."

"Yes."

"You never mentioned that Waterdeep would be attacked."

Narros eyed the bard honestly. "Do you think any would have believed us? And that was fourteen years ago. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't have been a hundred and fourteen years after we lost the circlet. It could have been the next day." He paused. "We just wanted to be here, to give an accounting of ourselves and to get a chance to avenge our sunken. We'd hoped to make a difference during the battle."

"I'm sure you did." Pacys had already heard stories of the mermen's valor during the battle for Waterdeep, and of the extra effort even the wounded had gone to while trying to save the men in the harbor.

"Even if we'd told the lords of Waterdeep about the attack, they wouldn't have been prepared. They wouldn't have given much credence to our fears."

"No," Pacys agreed. "They might not have believed you, and even the ones who did wouldn't have been any more prepared than they were after fourteen years. But why did he want to attack Waterdeep?" Unconsciously, he drifted over into the piece he'd written for Waterdeep, the music gentle to his ear.

"The prophecy is vague about that," Narros admitted. "Part of it is a warning to the surface dwellers and to bind the sahuagin further to his cause. A few lines suggest that he went into the city itself to reclaim one of his lost weapons to use in his conquest of the surface world."

"Was there any hint about what this weapon was supposed to do?"

Narros patted his daughter on the head. "With it, he's going to sunder a land, fill an ocean with fire and fury, and free a trapped people who live for evil as he does. Waterdeep was only the first of the cities that are going to learn to live in fear of the ocean. He is going to come to power in the outer sea, then in the inner one, and when it is revealed, all are going to fear his name."

Pacys absorbed the story, amazed by the depth and complexity that it offered. Prophecies were powerful things; not just for the people who believed in them, but the world itself was forced to deal with them.

"How are we supposed to stop him?" the old bard asked.

"I don't know," the shaman answered. "Our own prophecy hints that the prophecies of other undersea races are linked to the reappearance of this creature, and each will have other pieces to the story. One man will weave all of those stories together, spin them into a tale that will live forever in the history of this world." He locked his gaze on Pacys. "That man is you."

Hope fired through Pacys's heart, but he reached for it and held it down. "You can't know that," he whispered hoarsely.

" 'A human tale spinner,' " Narros quoted," 'old enough to be at the end of his life, yet still living on the edge, seeking to fill the emptiness that his own self-imposed quest has laid upon his soul, all his days given to the perfection of his craft. The music of his great song will replenish him till he is near bursting, like a deep water fish that streaks unwisely toward the shallows. Once he has gathered the song and given it to the worlds above and below, he'll be forever remembered as Taleweaver, he who sang of sand and sea and united the history of all peoples who have the sea in their blood.'" He pointed at the yarting, the strings still ringing in the old bard's hands. "I heard the song you played that night when my people arrived in this harbor. You couldn't know it, it is a sacred song, given only to my people at the time Eadro gave us the circlet. He told my ancestors then that the song would be given to the Taleweaver, and that was how we'd know him."

"If you knew then," Pacys protested, "why didn't you say something?"

Narros shook his head. "We were bound to silence. Remember? No one could speak of the Taker… not until after he reappeared."

"How can you be so sure I'm the one?"

"Since we've been here, your hands have ever been busy, made slave to the music that now holds you in thrall. Truly, you are the one. I was guided to you this morning because you still have your part to play."

"What part?" Pacys's heart hammered inside his chest. The song was one thing; he could commit to that, but what else remained before him?

"There is a man-hardly more than a boy by your counting of years, one who has always lived with the sea in his heart despite being abandoned to land-who will find a way to confront the Taker," Narros said. "He will find the weapon and he will find the way, but it will be only after he finds himself, discovers what he truly is. To do that, you'll have to seek him out and touch his heart. He's been shattered by his experiences, and others have worked to make him whole, given him much of what he needs, but he'll never be able to become what he needs to be without you. If you're not there for him, it could be that our very world will fall." The merman smiled comfortingly. "Take pride in the fact that he will be one of the very best of your kind."